


The Devildom Plague Incident.

by cypherd, LoganThrives (LadyAnatares)



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Hugs, Influenza, Multi, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Platonic Cuddling, Self-Insert, Sickfic, Suggestive Themes, basically just lots of fluff, gross symptoms that sick people have, if Asmo's in it it's suggestive, unrequitted pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25537771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypherd/pseuds/cypherd, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAnatares/pseuds/LoganThrives
Summary: So my friend recently got a 24 hour stomach flu (NOT Corona thank goodness) and that inspired this hot mess of a crackfic - what if she brought that flu to the Devildom and infected all of the demon brothers in turn? Features our OCs working together to bring wellness and comfort to some very sick demon boys. OC profiles are in the header notes to give more context about our characters :)
Relationships: Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	The Devildom Plague Incident.

**Author's Note:**

> Thought we’d introduce our OCs for this fic :)
> 
> Winter is an angel exchange student attending RAD and is staying at Purgatory Hall with the other exchange students. She happens to be a Throne however has been - through a little bit of Devildom magic, given a human like form the better to interact with her fellow exchange students. (It is well-suspected Diavolo may have been in charge of it, as she happens to look quite a bit more like a ‘textbook’ angel than any of the others, right down to the big fluffy wings.). She is friendly with Mammon and Beel in particular, and is on Beel’s Fangol team as co-captain. Her cooking skills are more advanced than Luke’s focusing more on savory dishes than sweet, which Beel definitely appreciates. It was hoped that Winter’s rebellious streak would have been quashed by being sent to the exchange program...but it seems to have failed as she’s having quite a bit of fun there.
> 
> Logan is the human exchange student from the previous year, having returned to Devildom to become the next Demon Queen through her diplomatic marriage to Diavolo. Logan is a self-insert OC (so the second person POV/you/your pronouns are Logan) and is genderfluid, though is presented as female for this fic. Logan basically has the canon relationships to each of the demon brothers (who adore her/are mad jealous Diavolo gets to marry her and they don't) save for Lucifer, whom she does not have a pact with and does not get along with in the slightest (he also pines after her but is bitter about her constant rejections). Other than all that, Logan is a fairly average human with a bit of a stubborn streak who finds herself in extraordinary circumstances. And she can’t cook, according to every demon she knows.

Over their time in the Devildom, Winter and Logan had become fast friends. Sure they were never...no actually they probably WERE going to have cocktails with Diavolo because Diavolo was just that extra.

But when the Angel was sick it was Mammon who asked for Logan’s aid.

“Look, ya know I hate that stupid angel.”

“You love her.”

“And I don’t want her better.”

“You want to nurse her back to health.”

“... So, she ate Solomon’s broth and now she is…”

“Throwing up?”

“Yes. How do I make it stop?”

“Sorry Logan.”

The angel’s voice was hoarse. ”Mammon’s not going to help,” Winter said.

“Oh yes he _is_ ,” you insist. “So you can’t keep food down?”

“Annnnd---crumbs no…” the angel ran to the bathroom. Her eyes were watering when she came back. “That?”

“Okay. Mammon. I have an idea; hugs. And if I get sick from this you’re going to tell Diavolo.” You gave the angel a hug from one side. “And you there.” Mammon sighed and gave the angel another hug. Sandwiched in hugs from the future Queen of the Devildom and the Avatar of Greed, she seemed to start to relax.

“So this is going to work?” he asked.

“Nah. Won’t fix her but it will make her feel better,” you insist.

“Good.”

“But… Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the end?” you ask.

* * *

 **Mammon**  
  
It took almost the entire night for Winter to fall asleep in Mammon’s arms, with the demon practically freaking out at every turn.

“She’s asleep? Not dead?”

“No. The angel is not dead. I do not think the angel could be dead as that is an angel.” You didn’t want to bring up Lilith but hopefully that would go over Mammon’s head. 

“Beel is going to kill me. She threw up. Twice.”

“That is… Pretty normal for being sick, Mammon. I’m sure when she’s feeling better she’ll be eating whatever Beel puts in front of her no questions asked. Just try to keep an eye on your angel.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say - telling Mammon something belonged to him was a good way to calm him down. 

You know you weren’t supposed to hear what he said next, but you definitely heard him.

“You know you’re going to have to get better, because I’m pretty used to having you AND Goldie around,” Mammon mumbled to a sleepy, fever-chilled Winter.

However the angel and the Avatar of Greed had gotten together was a mystery, but damn it if they weren’t cute. Even when one of them was making frequent trips to put their head in the toilet.

Mammon just needed a few nudges in the right direction - certainly angels were different but it did seem like Winter responded to all of the usual things. Plain foods, liquids, and bed rest, and it wasn’t like she was a bad patient, though she kept trying to talk everyone down until she just became too exhausted to resist.

You left only after putting a movie on the DVD player in Mammon’s room, leaving them curled up on his bed together.

By the next morning it was a different situation. 

“Logan, I have a problem.”

The demon draped over Winter’s shoulder said it all. “I think I gave him my crud,” she frowned.

“I’m not sick,” Mammon sniffles indignantly.

Winter grinned at you. “I have this. Mammon, if you admit you’re sick, Logan and I will give you hugs.”

“I am absolutely teeming with disease,” he insists.

“Yes you are buddy. Yes you are.” Winter looked over at you, the only human in the room. “Actually, how are you feeling? I was with you and now Mammon’s sick… You’re not feeling sick, are you?”

“No. No, I’m not feeling anything?” you paused, checking yourself over for signs of illness. “At least, not so far. Weird that Mammon would get it and I wouldn’t, though.”

“Hm. This could be a demon disease perhaps. I thought it was my eating what Solomon made that caused this, but now I don’t think that’s quite right. Or, well… Celestial _and_ demon disease. Let’s hope it doesn’t spread any further. I’m going to stay here at the House of Lamentation in case. We have Luke at Purgatory Hall after all, I don’t want him getting this. I’m going to take Mammon back to his room. We were both in there last night; perhaps we can contain it a little.”

“Good idea,” you nodded, but you felt _very_ certain that given the chaos that seemed to be part and parcel of life at the House of Lamentation, this would not be the end. “I think I can bring you guys some soup?” you offer. “But I might have to pact Beel out of the kitchen long enough for me to make it.”

“Heh, tell Beel you were just here and that I’m still throwing up. He won’t come near you.” Winter advised.

“...Well as delightful as that sounds, I hopefully won’t have to go there,” you grin.

“Does anyone ever think about what _I_ want?” Mammon pouts.

“Oh, okay. Right. Let’s get you into bed,” Winter said.

And with that, Winter picked up Mammon bridal style and carried him off to his room.

* * *

**Belphegor**

“So you’re telling me that _everyone_ is getting sick? In _turn?_ ”

You’re a bit incredulous at the spectacle before you. Sure you knew that Winter had gotten whatever Devil flu Solomon’s cooking had afflicted upon her, but you had honestly thought that that was over with once Mammon had recovered. But no, it turns out the boys are as adept at spreading germs and disease as they are at living their namesake sins.

“Sorry, everyone,” Winter apologizes defeatedly.

“Yeah, but I’m all better now!” Mammon complains.

“But Belphie is sick now,” you frown. “How are you doing by the way?”

Belphie moans incoherently where he’s curled into the corner of one of the common room couches, clutching his cow print pillow to his chest. You can see that his hair is matted against his forehead, slick with sweat.

“He won’t move or eat anything,” Beel frowns, lines of worry etched in his face. “Is he going to starve?”

“I tried offering him some soup earlier, but he wouldn’t eat a bite,” Winter adds.

“We can start him off with some rest, then - he won’t get severely dehydrated overnight no matter how bad his fever is,” you reassure him, heading over to the Avatar of Sloth. You put a hand on his back and lean down towards him. “Do you think you can make it upstairs?”

“Mmn,” he grunts noncommittally, but he slowly shifts from the couch to stand anyways. He grips the shoulder of your uniform, having just enough energy to shuffle after you as you head for the attic. Winter, ever the dutiful angel, follows the two of you upstairs.

You get him up to the attic and he mechanically starts sloughing off his clothes, not even caring that the two of you are still standing there.

“Um!!” Winter frets, turning away and blushing with her wings outstretched as if to shield her from the sight. “Right! I’ll… _Go_ , and you can take care of the rest. Okay Logan?”

You chuckle at that. “We’ll be fine. Thanks Winter.”

Now stripped down to just his boxers, Belphie shivers violently and practically _throws_ himself under the thick covers of the spacious bed.

“How are you doing Belphie?” you ask.

“So cold, I _hate_ it,” he groans, his face appearing from under the covers at the head of the bed where he lays on his back. “And yet I feel like I’m boiling from the inside out. This is torture. Why can’t I get comfortable?”

“It’s a bad fever, but it’ll break sooner if you just let yourself rest,” you reassure him, coming to sit on the side of the bed. “How’s your stomach? Think you can get some soup down before you pass out again?”

Belphie shakes his head, eyeing you over as you brush his sweaty hair away from his face. “Listen, Logan,” he pouts, cocooning himself further into the sheets. “I know you’re dead set on marrying Diavolo or whatever, but do you think you can stay with me? Just for tonight?”

… You have a hard time saying no to that face. Especially when that face is flushed and burning up at about a million degrees.

“... So long as you’re too sick to try anything, troublemaker,” you smirk. “I’ll text Dia to let him know what’s going on.”

“ _Ugh_.”

“What? He’s my future husband, he should probably know in advance whether I’m going to climb into bed for the night with another man,” you roll your eyes. You know Diavolo trusts you and that you trust the brothers, but Belphegor has a history of trying to push your buttons, engagement to the future Demon King or no.

“I won’t try anything, I’m too sick to,” he responds pitifully.

“Pinky swear it?” You hold out your hand.

He smirks. “No.”

“I’ll tickle you until you’re crying if you do.”

“Demons don’t cry. We don’t have tear ducts,” he lies obviously.

“Wanna put that to the test?” you grin threateningly.

“Fine, fine,” he sighs, rolling on to his side. “Everything aches and I still feel like I’m freezing. Just hold me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Once you’ve texted your husband-to-be you tear yourself out of your uniform top to just your undershirt and pants, then climb into bed with him. He instantly latches on to you, curling into your front with his whole body shaking as if he’s freezing cold, even though he feels hot enough to fry an egg on.

“You are _sweltering_ Belphie, are you sure you don’t want some water or something at least?” you attempt.

“... I don’t want to throw up again,” he grumbles into your neck. “Beel freaked out the last time I did it. If there’s nothing in my stomach it can’t come back up, right?”

You stroke his hair reassuringly. “I mean, you can still cough up stomach acid,” you say. “It would probably burn real bad if you’ve had nothing to eat or drink, too. Also, a fever can dehydrate you quickly.”

“... I’ll be fine for tonight,” he moans. “So long as you’re here I think I’ll be okay.”

You settle in with the living furnace of a demon as best as you can, Belphegor falling into a restful sleep for the first time in a day and a half.

* * *

**Beelzebub**

Since Belphegor had gotten ill, something said that Beel wasn’t too far behind. And since you and Winter had combined efforts to get Mammon and Belphegor back on their feet, you had been hopeful that maybe that would be the end of it.

It was nice to be hopeful.

“Hi Logan. Boy, we’re getting to see a lot of one another this past week.”

“You’re not kidding.”

It would have been a nice sentiment if she wasn’t presently sitting on Beel’s back, who was most definitely in his demon form. His wings were spread out to make room for her on his back, and his face was buried in a pillow, the steam from his fever practically rolling out of his ears.

There were very few people who could subdue the Avatar of Gluttony, and even fewer that he would _let_ subdue him. Winter fell into both categories.

“... Did something happen?” you ask.

The angel sighed. “Yep. The crud continues, and he… Had an ‘accident’.”

“What do you me- _Oh_ . I see. He V-O-...”  
  
“Don’t even spell it! I’m strong but not THAT strong. But yes, _that_ , and it’s not going over all that well. But - I think the worst is over. If he weren’t so weak I don’t think I’d have managed it.”

It always required a reminder that the tiny angel was really a powerful flaming wheel-with-eyes in her angel form, and not a petite human-looking girl with some pretty feather wings, given how much she grappled with Beel. But right now she really was heaven-sent, as the mess that would have resulted from a rampaging and sick Beel would have likely brought the entire Devildom to its knees.

The demon in question rocked up, a frustrated expression on his face. “Belphie was sicker than me, get off! I’m starving!” he complained.

“See? Better already. But if I let you up, we’re going to have a very plain dinner. No Minotaur steak… Just soup. I’ll make it for you even.”

He let his face fall back into the pillow. You’re not sure if he’s growling or if that’s his ailing stomach.

You eye the duo. “Do you need my help?”

“Hm, if you chop veggies, I can be CERTAIN about this one,” she patted Beel’s head. “Lotus, carrot, and broccoli I think. And we’ll use the garlic olive oil And the fresh broccoli. At least if we can’t breathe we’ll all suffer bad breath together. And Beel I _promise_ you, I haven’t had a proper dinner since I got over my own round so I am ABSOLUTELY going out with you once we have our appetites back.”

“...Ristorante Six isn’t going to be the same after you two is it?” you grin.

“If it isn’t I’ll know he’s not better.”

Winter stood and offered her hand to Beel who sighed and turned over onto his front. “Let’s stay down here a while longer,” he moans pitifully, finally settling down to rest, his demon features slipping from sight.

The angel flashed you a thumbs up and you took that as your cue to leave her to it.

* * *

**Satan**

Watching Satan be mad at the flu bug was actually pretty entertaining. But he also happened to be the only demon with the good sense to try and find remedies to treat the virus with.

“It’s raw ginger and newt wings,” he explains, pouring the tea into a cup and offering Winter the mug to take back to Beel.

“Thank you. Wish I had this when I was pinning him down yesterday,” the angel sighed softly. “But Beel at least could deal with this. Under significant protest, but still.”

“I hear Hell’s Kitchen is going to go out of business without his regular patronage,” he smirks. “I heard you have dinner plans once he fully recovers, is that right?”

The angel blushed. “Well, once he’s better. So, how are YOU feeling?”

“Fine. Perfectly fine,” and that was punctuated with a sneeze.

“Satan, I will admit I indulged in a little bit of gluttony if you’ll admit you’re sick.”

He scowls deeply at the angel standing in his kitchen. “I will _not_ be brought down by some _wizard flu_ -”

Winter smiled. “I went out with Beel after practice last week and ate so much I almost outdid him there.”

“... _Fine_ ,” he sighs, sniffling in spite of himself. “I have had all this tea and practically drank spicy hellfire sauce from the bottle, and it barely cleared my sinuses. Good luck with this stuff.”

Satan gave the tea and herbs to Winter. “Well, give this a try and let me know if it works.”

“You don’t want a hug?” she offers.

“Hells no. Save it for Mammon and Asmo.”

* * *

**Leviathan**

“Levi?” you shout, knocking on the door to his room. “Are you okay in there?”

“Th-This room is under quarantine!” he answers back, annoyed. “I don’t wanna get the angel flu!”

“The _angel_ flu?” Winter scoffs, faintly offended.

“And it’s a good thing too!” Asmo scolds him from where he stands in the hallway next to you. “I’m sick of everybody being _sick_ around me! I don’t want your otaku germs!”

“We just want to know if you’re sick or not,” you shout back to Levi through the closed door. “If you’re okay though, we’ll leave you alone.”

“I’m okay! Just- **_Achoo!_ ** Just go away and take your germs with you! _Achoo!!_ ” he shouts back.

… Did Levi just sneeze really hard? _Twice?_

Oh _no_. It sounds like he’s having a sneezing fit in there now. He’s sniffling pretty hard now that he’s knocked everything loose.

“... I got him sick too, didn’t I?” Winter frowns.

“Okay I’m _out_ of here!” Asmo says, sashaying away quickly to hide in his room like he has all week. “Let me know when you two have sorted him out! Actually, _don’t_ come see me yourselves! Text me or call!”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. Asmo had basically retreated to hide in his room the entire week as the stomach flu made its way around the household.

“D-Don’t come in here!!” Levi grumbles, his voice sounding nasally and stuffed up now.

“There are several wards and enchantments on this door - probably to keep us from forcing our way in,” Winter observes, holding her chin in a hand looking pensive as she examines each one. “I could probably break a few of them, but demon magic is a bit different. It’ll take time.”

“I’ve got a faster way in,” you announce. “ **Leviathan, open this door.** ”

You hear a long, anguished grumble as he scrambles across the room to do exactly that. He’s holding the door from the other side as he opens it to the two of you, his clothes sweaty and disheveled and his face flushed from fever as he sniffles.

“ _Really?_ ” he whines. “You had to _pact_ me?”

“How are you feeling bud?” you ask. “You know we just want to help look after you.”

“I’m _miserable_ ,” he sulks, fixing Winter with a glare. “Why’d you have to go and infect the entire house? You don’t even _live_ here.”

“Sorry…” Winter apologizes. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? I want to help.”

Levi makes an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, then turns away from the two of you and resumes what he was doing - which apparently involved slumping into a beanbag chair on the floor with a Nintendo Switch in his hands, the side of his face pressed against the glass of Henry’s tank.

… Honestly, it’s cute, and acutely ridiculous.

“Does that feel nice??” you ask of the awkward position, smiling. Henry the goldfish is investigating the smudge on his glass with an unreadable expression. You know, since he’s a goldfish.

“... The cold feels nice on my face,” he admits. Levi being down with the sickness makes it hard to tell if he’s blushing or not. You just assume that he probably is, knowing him.

“I’ll go get some fresh sheets for your, um, bed?” Winter suggests, realizing there isn’t one in the room.

“Oh, it’s the bathtub. I guess you haven’t been in here before?” you realize. “He might have some fresh sheets in his closet though.”

“It’s bad enough you normies are in here _now_ ,” Levi moans, sniffling.

“I’ll get you a fresh box of tissues, okay?” you say, emptying his trash bin next to his computer desk. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Probably fourteen hours ago,” he sighs.

“Have you been throwing up?”

He shakes his head, fixated on his game even as his eyes are drooping.

“Well that’s good at least. I’ll make you some soup?”

He huffs at that, but makes no further comment. Right, your cooking isn’t exactly high-class enough for the boys’ tastes.

“Or… Winter could make you some soup?” you offer, making eye contact with the angel who is diligently changing out the blankets and pillows in his tub.

“Oh yeah!” she brightens, her feathered wings doing a reflexive bob up and down in happiness.

“... Yeah, okay,” he agrees.

You take over changing the sheets and pillows in his bathtub bed and find him some soft pajamas to wear in his closet while Winter disappears and reappears with a steaming bowl of soup broth. After he slowly picks at the bowl of soup, he reluctantly lets you change him out of his sweaty clothes, reminding you of a little kid as you pull his shirt up over his head for him since he won’t put the console down.

“I’m almost done planting roses in the shape of Ruri-chan’s face in Animal Crossing,” he mutters absently of his game.

“Okay sweetie,” you grin, glancing at Winter, who giggles.

He won’t let you change him out of his pants, freaking out and asking you to leave, so you decide to just leave that alone - they’re sweatpants anyways so they’re probably fine. But once he heads to the bathroom for a cold shower and to brush his teeth, then clears his sinuses a few more times with some strong sneezes, he’s ready to be tucked into bed.

You squeeze his shoulder when you say goodbye for the night, needing to head back to the castle as you have an early meeting in the morning at RAD.

“Want me to tell you a story?” Winter offers, half-teasing but concerned nonetheless for his health and well-being.

“... Can you tell me one where I get to marry Logan?” he asks with a pout.

“Aww. I think I can think something up,” she smiles sweetly at him.

* * *

**Asmodeus**

“Oh...did you hear?” Asmo says when you approach.

“Yes. I’m here to support you.”

“Thank you Winter.”

The steam bath going in Asmo’s room smelled faintly of roses. It was hard to miss that Asmo, stuffed up with a head cold was still really very pretty. Leave it to that demon to make having a stomach bug an aesthetic. 

But if he wasn’t the most dramatic and whiny sonovabitch in the nine Hells...

“Logan… Winter… Here you are, when I’m on my deathbed,” he croons mournfully. “Winter, I feel I’ve never told you your wings are beautiful. Logan, I believe if I survive you should marry me instead of Diavolo. And if you lot are going to be in my room, kindly have the decency to wear a mask. Preferably one that goes with your outfits,” he waves dismissively.

“Well, fair.” Winter looked to you.

“Um… You know what? I don’t have one,” you realize. Damn, masks would’ve been a good idea days ago, why is it only when _Asmo_ gets sick that anyone in this house has any sense?

“There’s some cloth masks on the dresser darlings,” he waves dismissively. “I am _so_ not making my favourite human and angel wear those medical ones that look like _panty liners_.”

Indeed there were face masks on the dresser. One had peaches on it and one had roses… And the third…

“Did you get one that has raven wings?” Winter asks, surprised, and you can’t help but to agree. That’s not his usual aesthetic.

”Black suits you dear. Logan, I think the roses would work best with your look. And bring me the peach one. It’ll go best with the pajamas I’ve set out to wear.”

The angel and you share a look that truly expressed ‘Asmo is full of it’

“You will survive,” you sigh at him.  
  
Winter grinned.

“What? Oh no,” you sigh, slapping your own forehead. “I walked right into that one.”

“Gloria Gaynor. We are in the presence of Asmo after all,” Winter grins. “But since I’m over this and seem to be immune and you’re not feeling anything because of your human-ness… Let’s stay with him tonight. He can’t be pervy on us, he’s too sick.”

“Are you kidding?” Asmo frowns, feigning insult. “This is basically my fantasy threesome! How could I resist?” he sniffles.

“Be good or I’ll pact you,” you warn him.

“You act like I don’t like it when you get feisty,” he purrs. That seems to stuff him up again though as he then chokes on phlegm. “This bug is just _terrible!_ ” he whines.

“... We should be able to get away with it,” you figure. “Asmo won’t go against Diavolo. Or Mammon for that matter.”  
  
It was worth it to see Winter giggle and blush that hard. “I think Satan has a working potion by now... I’ll go visit him and get it while you convince Asmo to get dressed.”

* * *

**Lucifer**

“Almost everyone is better now,” you sigh heavily. “Asmo’s over the worst of it and is already trying to book me in for a spa day with him on the weekend. Other than him, is everybody _really_ feeling better now? Is the plague really over?”

“... I haven’t seen Lucifer today,” Belphegor realizes.

“Oh yeah! Where is that guy?” Mammon says, glancing all around as if expecting the eldest brother to randomly appear and give him crap for something.

You sigh and hang your head. Out of all of the brothers, Lucifer would probably hide it and suffer in silence because his Pride can’t allow him to appear weak.

“I’ll go find him and make sure he’s okay,” you say, heading off to the secret study.

Predictably the door is sealed and shut, but you managed to figure out the way to open it the last time you visited with Diavolo - Lucifer had opened it in front of you absently without thinking. You scan the bookshelves for the book ‘Demon Kings Past and Present’ (actually a super rare early manuscript of TSL so disguised so that Levi won’t find it), tilt it back until you hear a click, and then say the magic words.

“I love you, Lilith.”

You release the tome as the bookcase slides back away from you, then turns to one side and tucks itself into an alcove in the wall of the passageway.

You spot him immediately from the railing.

He’s slumped over his desk. You can just barely see him breathing.

“Oh, Lucifer…”

Descending the stairs as quickly as you can, you round the desk and brush his hair away from his forehead. He’s burning up badly.

He shifts to sit back in his chair once he realizes someone is with him. “I’m fine, I can keep working,” he mumbles tiredly, his eyes barely opening to acknowledge you as he hugs his arms to his chest, settling in for another rest.

“Lucifer,” you cue him, gripping his shoulder. “You caught the flu that’s been going around. You can’t keep working like this, you need to rest until you feel better.”

“I’m not sick,” he insists. “I have to keep working.”

“Lucifer what would have happened if I hadn’t found you just now?” you scold him, holding his face as his eyes snap open to look at you. “You were passed out on your desk and your fever is extremely high.”

“... Logan?” he blinks, face softening as he realizes it’s you. “You came to see me?”

“ _Someone_ had to,” you dismiss.

He frowns at that, pushing your hand away from his face and then scanning his desk for his pen. His movements are sluggish and his body trembles from aches and fever chills.

You spot the dip pen and flick it away from him. He scrambles after it as it tumbles to the floor away from him.

“... What, are you a cat now?” he admonishes.

“No more work today. You’re resting, that’s an order,” you insist.

“You’re not Queen yet,” he scoffs. “I don’t have to take orders from you.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my future husband how co-operative you were in your own well-being,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “Or should I just skip ahead to the part where I tell him you’re sick and he sends an army of physicians your way?”

His crimson eyes would bore holes straight through you, if he only had the energy. “I should change the passphrase for the door,” he mutters.

“We both know you won’t.”

You come around his desk and pull one of his arms over your shoulders, gripping him around his waist to help lift him up. “Let’s go, big guy.”

Begrudgingly he rises from his seat, and then you get a real sense of how sick he is when he rests his full weight on you. But you bear him as best as you can.

You get him over to the couch in front of the fireplace and help him sit down, then pull at the knot in his tie to loosen it and start unbuttoning his vest.

“Logan,” he smirks. “I didn’t realize you wanted me in that way, although I can’t say that I’m surprised. What would Diavolo think?”

“Shut _up_ . You wear like a _million_ layers, no _wonder_ you’re sweating straight through your clothes with the fever you have,” you scold him.

That and he can barely keep himself upright or his eyes open.

Absently he removes his gloves before shuffling out of his vest, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his dress shirt and removing his belt and tie fully before laying back on the couch. You take a handkerchief from your uniform pocket and use it to wipe up the sweat beading on his forehead.

Once he’s comfortably stretched out, you take out your D.D.D. and snap a picture of him. His eyes snap open as the shutter sound goes off and he glares at you.

“Exactly _why_ are you taking photos of me?” he demands.

“Insurance. If you can’t behave like a good patient then this gets posted to Devilgram,” you smirk. “Now, rest up. I’m texting Winter to prepare more of that soup she made Beel the other day and bring it here.”

“... Oh, Diavolo,” he remembers, sitting up. “Right. I had a meeting with him scheduled for this evening. What time is it?”

“Ohh _no_ you don’t,” you say, promptly sitting on his legs. “Meeting’s cancelled. You are _not_ giving this to Diavolo. The house is still under quarantine until _all_ of you are better - that includes you too.”

Lucifer grumbles at you, hefting himself up despite your attempt to keep him pinned. Man, if only you had a Winter angel here to keep the Avatar of Pride pacified as easily as she does Beel.

“If you refuse to move, I will be forced to move you.”

You roll your eyes at his idle threat. “I may not have a pact over you but I’m sure I can get one or more of your brothers in here to pin you down for me.”

Lucifer smirks. “That won’t be necessary.”

Then he grabs you by your waist and hefts you up with far more strength than he displayed moments ago, when he was practically dropping from his fever. You yelp as he repositions you to lie down on the couch, then shuffles his long body to lay on top of you when you fail to wriggle free from his grasp.

“Lucifer-!” you complain. Your hand is pinned so you can’t even access your D.D.D.!

“ _Shh_ ,” he hums, nuzzling in next to your ear.

In conspicuously little time, his body goes limp and his breath evens out as the fatigue overtakes him once again.

“... Fine. Rest up, asshole,” you sigh, petting his sweaty hair.

* * *

**Solomon and Simeon**

Winter smiled. “Well, that’s all the demons. I’ll be heading back to Purgatory Hall. Thanks Logan. I really appreciated this.”

“Of course, any time. Thanks for helping me with them,” you smile.

It took all of ten minutes - the time it took Winter to walk from the House of Lamentation to Purgatory Hall - before you got a call from her.

“Uh, hey. So Solomon and Simeon. Both of them. Are you SURE you’re feeling okay?” she asks urgently.

“... Seventy-something pacts and you’re wondering why Solomon’s sick?” you counter, chuckling. “The guy is practically at home among demons.”

“... Ah.”

“Seventy- _two_ pacts and I should NOT be sick,” you hear Solomon gripe in the background.

“Watching Solomon rage against the flu bug is fun but… Can I ask what happened to Luke? He’s not here,” Winter asks.

“Barbatos sent him to the Celestial Realm for a few days. I think we got him out in time,” you reassure her.

“Might want to leave him there for a few more. All of the brothers and myself seem to have gotten it for about a day, two at most, but if we want to keep it from spreading across the whole Devildom then we’d better just take the extra time.”

“Good plan,” you agree. “We won’t send for him until everyone’s feeling better.”

Simeon was at least very calm and quiet. He tended to his own symptoms with maturity and outstanding grace, not raising a fuss nor burdening Winter with an ounce of his illness. That was a mercy after spending near a week with the fussy demon brothers of the House of Lamentation.

Solomon on the other hand was having a giant bout of man flu, and was also a bit delirious as he was apparently convinced that he’d finally gotten a pact with the angel.

“So, is this seventy-three?” he asks, sweat rolling down his forehead as Winter chases it with a cold cloth.

“No, this is you being a needy whiner,” Winter admonishes him. “Seriously, I dealt with Mammon and Beel who threw up all over- Actually, _no_ ,” she shook her head. “No sugarcoating it for you - I’m going to tell you _exactly_ the level of gross I’ve had to put up with all week because of you.”

And the angel proceeded to detail _exactly_ what she had to… Well, it was _in her hands_.

“... And that somehow still _pales_ in comparison to… _This_ . Solomon, I am here out of the goodness of my heart, and by the way prayer is not a summoning! We don’t actually do- Oh, goodness me no please _don’t_ … _Crumbs_.”

And the angel sighed, running to fetch a bucket and a box of tissues for the human sorcerer.

* * *

“I’m glad that’s over with,” you sigh at the dinner table at the castle later that night.

“It sounds like it was quite the ordeal,” Diavolo chuckles. “I’m glad that you were able to avoid falling ill yourself, Logan. The brothers would have torn the House of Lamentation apart to care for you as thoroughly as you and Winter cared for each of the brothers. Speaking of, feel free to invite her over to the castle this week. I’d like to thank her personally.”

“Will do,” you smile.

He chuckles idly to himself, carving at his dinner and taking a bite.

… His expression shifts abruptly to one of... Confusion?

“Dia?” you ask, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“It doesn’t taste quite right,” he frowns. “Is there something different with the seasoning?”

“I prepared your meal as I always do, my Lord,” Barbatos adds, stepping away from the side of the room to investigate.

The Demon Lord holds a hand over his gut and you can almost _hear_ the telltale gurgle of an upset stomach. He coughs into his fist, and then sneezes abruptly.

“Oh honey _no_ ,” you say, sliding out of your chair quickly and coming to stand at his side. “No, not you too!”

“I will prepare a warm bath and some tea,” Barbatos says, already fixing a cloth mask to his face.

“... Sorry, Logan,” Dia smiles, slightly ashamed to have caught the devil flu. “I suppose you have one last patient to attend to.”

“Remind me to wring Solomon’s neck for casting crazy spells on his cooking again,” you sigh.

**Author's Note:**

> Let us know what you think :)


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